


this is it, boys, this is war

by elliebell (Naladot)



Category: Day6 (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, Comedy, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-17
Updated: 2018-06-25
Packaged: 2019-05-24 11:43:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14954042
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Naladot/pseuds/elliebell
Summary: Brian left hero work—and his tragic backstory—behind when he moved back to Canada and swore he'd never return. But three years later, his job at a research and analysis firm predicts that Yoon Dowoon is THE CHOSEN ONE, and Brian has to go back to Korea to find him. But he's not going to get sucked back into his old life, so help him, he is NOT.





	1. so what are we waiting for?

**Author's Note:**

> I'm really not in fandom anymore except for the music, but I watched a funny moments compilation and then wrote 5k of fic, as you do.
> 
> The premise of this fic is basically if you put The Avengers, The Incredibles, The Office, and Kpop into a blender.
> 
> Probably part 1 of 2.

* * *

 

 

Brian’s final job interview with a Toronto-based research and analysis firm requires a lot of lying through his teeth.

 

“Do you now, or have you ever, exhibited supernatural or superhuman abilities, including but not limited to Class A through Class X abilities as detailed in our company manual, in any form or degree?”

 

“No,” says Brian.

 

“To the best of your knowledge do you now, or have you ever, come into contact with any humans or humanoid peoples exhibiting supernatural or superhuman abilities, including but not limited to Class A through Class X abilities as previously mentioned, for any length of time longer than 3.5 seconds?”

 

“No,” says Brian, wondering where the 3.5 seconds came from, and how anyone would really know if they had crossed the threshold and needed to report their 3.7 seconds of contact.

 

“Do you now, or have you ever, attempted to contact, make the acquaintance of, befriend, or initiate sexual relations with a human or humanoid person exhibiting supernatural or superhuman abilities, including but not limited to—”

 

“Uh, no,” Brian says, “But can I ask you something? Why do you have to ask all these questions?”

 

The HR guy blanches and stares at his clipboard. “There was, uh. An incident.”

 

Brian’s brow furrows. “Like a supervillain, arch-nemesis deal?”

 

The HR guy shakes his head. “No. Fangirl.” He shudders. “Using our surveillance reports. That’s all I’m legally allowed to say.”

 

Brian nods slowly, gripping the arms of his chair and doing some fast math concerning the state of his bank account. 

 

He needs a job pretty damn bad.

 

“Well,” the HR guy says with a big, fake grin. “I can offer you the position with our research and retrieval team starting next Monday, if you’re interested.”

 

Brian considers his options. If he takes the job, he’s coming way too close to a bunch of crap he’d sworn to leave behind in Korea three years ago. If he doesn’t take the job, he’s eating ramen for every meal and continuing to sleep on his friend’s couch.

 

“Great,” Brian says. “I’m excited to start.”

  
  
  


 

On the way home he buys a pack of cigarettes. When he gets back to his friend’s house, he takes out a cigarette and lights it with a snap of his fingers. Then he remembers that he actually hates smoking, and sits there in his car with the cigarette burning down, feeling like an absolute tool, and somewhere in his memory Hilary Duff’s voice is singing  _ this is what dreams are made of,  _ or maybe it’s Jae’s voice after his fifth viewing of  _ The Lizzie McGuire Movie _ . They didn’t get a lot of movie options when they were living on the compound. Old, old memories. Stuff Brian swore he was not going to think about ever again.

 

He pinches the end of the cigarette and watches the smoke twirl away from his fingers.

  
  
  


 

His job at Fitcher & Fork Group is mind-numbingly boring and mostly involves math and computer programs. Brian is eff-ing amazing at math, but the only pleasure he gets from the job is the math he does to calculate the rise of money in his bank account. He doesn’t make friends because his coworkers are all nerds and Brian is cool.

 

Everything goes well until one terrible day when everything changes, like this is the start of a fucking adventure movie, God help him.

 

“Did you read this report thoroughly?” his boss says, coming over to him with one of Brian’s printouts. The far wall of their office is a giant, interactive map, lit up with the locations of supers all over the world. Brian’s boss gestures vaguely to the map.

 

“Which report?” Brian asks.

 

“Chosen-one forecasting.”

 

“Oh.” Brian takes the report and thumbs through the pages. “Seemed pretty standard. Did I miss something?”

 

“Not exactly. Chelsea in Surveillance realized your predictions lined up with one of the supers on their radar.”

 

Brian nods, not really understanding the point. “So…”

 

“ _ So, _ this is where the retrieval part of your job comes in,” his boss says, smiling at Brian over his glasses. “I need you to go to Korea and see if you can make a contract with a super named Yoon Dowoon.”

 

Brian nods. “Go to Korea, make a—wait, what the hell?”

 

But his boss has already walked away. Brian flips frantically through the report again. The numbers all add up.

 

Yoon Dowoon has been predicted as a “chosen one.”

 

“What the hell,” Brian repeats.

  
  
  
  


The way Brian sees it, his biggest problem is that he doesn’t have anyone to talk to about this super shitty life development. And the Purchasing department is already processing his plane tickets.

 

He thinks about telling his parents, but his parents have “put all that behind them” and “are glad he’s back in Canada where things can be normal,” so Brian just tells them he’s going on a work trip to Korea. His parents blink, switch smoothly to Korean (knowing his is rusty), and don’t ask any more questions. This is probably because they prefer employed-Brian to broke-Brian, and don’t want to jeopardize his new job by bringing up THE PAST.

 

He thinks about telling his friend who is letting Brian sleep on his couch (still), but when Brian gets back, said-friend and said-friend’s annoying girlfriend are sitting on said-couch, watching a live news report.

 

“You heard about this yet?” Brian’s friend asks. Brian glances at the screen. Some Canadian super is flying around the head of a giant robot, and it looks like something out of a comic book except that, by the looks of it, the aftermath is going to close down ON-401 for weeks, and that sucks.

 

“Nope,” Brian says.

 

“These supers are fucking up everything,” the annoying girlfriend says. “Can’t even look at Instagram without it being supers-this, supers-that. I’m going to have to leave an hour earlier for work every day if the highway is closed. What about the rest of us?”

 

“You know Brian works for one of those supers companies now,” the friend says.

 

“Research and analysis firm,” Brian corrects.

 

“Ooh, you got a job?” Annoying girlfriend asks, visibly counting up the days until Brian finds his own place.

 

“Yes,” Brian says, and exits to the bathroom.

 

He looks at himself in the mirror. It’s just like a movie, and Brian hates himself, because the whole point of coming back to Toronto was to leave all of that  _ behind _ , but maybe destiny catches up with you no matter what.

 

At the very least, Brian hopes he can pick the genre.

  
  


 

To sum up his tragic backstory:

 

A few years after Brian’s family moved to Canada, they discovered that Brian had a weird affinity for lighting matches, and sent him to a psychologist, lest they were accidentally raising a pyromaniac. After the psychologist had been interviewing him for half an hour, 10-year-old punk Brian said, “Dude, I don’t like matches, I can make fire with my hands!” And proceeded to make a big-ass fireball. Psychologist referred them to a specialized hospital.

 

Turned out Brian was hardly the only kid with weird abilities in the Toronto area, but he was a South Korean citizen and therefore under Korean jurisdiction. His parents were upstanding citizens who were more than a little freaked out by their child’s ability to set himself on fire, and instead of hiding him away in a quiet Canadian neighborhood (Brian’s preferred tragic backstory), they sent him back to Korea.

 

The government had set up research facilities to deal with the sudden appearance of super-powered children, so for the first five years, Brian lived as a ward of the state in a large compound with several hundred other kid-freaks. Then the research got privatized and the facility was sold to a corporation specializing in abilities research, so for the next two years, Brian was a lab rat. By that point some supers had become super-famous and the research company was bought up by a different company wanting to professionalize and streamline the supers business, and for the next four years, Brian was a super-trainee. Then the accident, which made Brian quit his super-life and return to Canada, refusing to ever think about it all again.

 

It was VERY tragic and also beside the point that Brian was just a mid-level super without a formal contract when he left, so like, he wasn’t really leaving that much behind except his friends.

 

Of course, Yoon Dowoon just got CHOSEN ONE status, so the biggest point here is, Brian doesn’t know what the facts are about anything anymore.

 

 

 

Another important part of Brian’s tragic backstory is that leaving behind the supers life meant cutting off contact with all supers. Not because of anything to do with the company. Brian is just a needy, all-or-nothing person.

 

Fast-forward to the present. He gets on a plane to Seoul and wonders how he can find Yoon Dowoon without, you know. Getting sucked back into everything.

 

Supers are VERY DRAMATIC, after all.

 

(Somewhere in the back of his head he can hear Jae going,  _ I’m not dramatic, you are! _ Because Jae is an ass.)

 

Brian decides that he will find Yoon Dowoon without contacting anyone else from his former life. He will contact Yoon Dowoon, and he will say,  _ long time no see, wanna come to Canada? _ And Dowoon will say no, because Dowoon is lazy. And then Brian will go back to Canada, and no one will ever know Brian was there.

 

He makes a list on the plane.

 

_ PEOPLE I CANNOT NOT GO SEE IN KOREA _

  * _Sungjin: He will look at me with huge disappointment and say, “We need you, Younghyun,” and I can’t handle that._
  * _Jae: He’s an ass_
  * _Wonpil: He’s a manipulative ass_
  * _Bambam: I will feel sorry I didn’t take care of him the way I promised and then I might stay_
  * _Jinyoung: Pretty sure I forgot to pay him back some money and he definitely remembers_
  * _Jackson: He will tell everyone else I’m in Seoul_



 

_ PEOPLE I CAN GO SEE IN KOREA _

  * _Dowoon: this is literally my job_
  * _Wooyoung: I miss him_
  * _The girls: actually don’t go see the girls, they will tell Jackson who will tell everyone else_



He feels really good about his list when it’s done. He’s set clear boundaries for himself so that he can live his best life. This is mature. Brian is making his way in the world.

  
  
  


 

His plane is rerouted to Gimpo because there’s a superhero fight taking place along their flight path.

 

No one has any details until they land, and then they all rush to the televisions on the wall by the bathrooms. On screen, the Bangtan Boys are fighting some kind of ocean monster, which is a distinct advantage because between them they have a number of water-based abilities and other teams might not fare so well against this particular monster.

 

“Shit,” Brian says under his breath, realizing he is calculating fight stats.

 

He pulls out his list again, and under PEOPLE I CANNOT GO SEE IN SEOUL he writes,  _ literally anyone who ever lived on the compound, do not get sucked back into that life Brian. _

 

His trip already sucks.

  
  
  


 

Because their team was disbanded when Brian left Korea, he has to go down to City Hall to draw up the supers records and see if he can find any information about Dowoon’s whereabouts. The Fitcher & Fork surveillance team had given Brian a phone number, but when he tries it, a mechanical voice says  _ this number has been disconnected _ . Dowoon could be living at some kind of mystical monastery, for all Brian knows. Nah, scratch that, Dowoon wouldn’t bother. More likely he is living at his parents’ house and playing video games.

 

Dowoon does not have social media, that Brian can find. This is also because Dowoon is lazy.

 

Dowoon’s superpower is speed, which makes his laziness that much weirder.

 

“I’m a cheetah,” Dowoon used to say. “I have to save my energy for the really important things.”

 

Of course, to Dowoon, important things included: testing how fast he could drum without losing rhythm, testing how fast he could hide Sungjin’s stuff without Sungjin catching him, testing how far up a wall he could run before he fell down, testing if he could run across water, etc. So there was always a bit of a disagreement, between Dowoon and their trainers, about where he was using his energy.

 

Brian decides to keep looking. He can definitely find Dowoon without asking anyone from THE PAST. Definitely.

  
  
  


 

Two weeks later…

 

Brian has spent one week wandering around Seoul, and one week wandering around Busan, looking for Yoon Dowoon. He is beginning to consider that he is very unqualified for his job.

 

But when he calls, his boss says to try harder, because the predictive algorithms just keep confirming that Dowoon is a bonafide, save-the-universe chosen one.

 

Brian groans. And calls the number he swore he wouldn’t call.

  
  
  


 

“Brian Kang. It’s been 89 years…”

 

“Shut up, man.”

 

“Eighty-fucking-nine years!”

 

“Dude, it’s raining, can you just press the button and unlock this gate.”

 

“What do you have to say for yourself?”

 

“God, Jae, I’m  _ sorry _ , just let me into your apartment complex—”

 

“That’s not the password!”

 

“Ugh.” Brian looks up at the sky and gets a bunch of rain in his eyes. He presses the intercom button again, and proceeds in monotone. “I am Zuko, son of Ursa and Firelord Ozai, prince of the Fire Nation and heir to the throne.”

 

“Atta boy.”

 

The gate clicks open. Jae is an ass. The world keeps turning. Brian sighs, and walks through the gate.

 

Jae meets him at the door to the building. “How  _ is _ my favorite firebender?”

 

In spite of himself, Brian can’t help but grin. It  _ has _ been a long time since he last saw Jae. Guilt spreads like an itch across the back of his neck.

 

“I’m good, man.” He grins and claps Jae into a hug. “What about you?”

 

“It’s good, it’s good.” His eyes dart to either side briefly, residue of some old paranoia that comes from being a super in an unsuper world. “Let’s go up to my pad.”

 

Jae’s apartment turns out to be a lot nicer than anything Brian expected. Not huge, but new and shiny. Jae lifts his hand when they’re in the door, and the door locks behind them and two beers float out of the fridge and onto the coffee table.

 

“Step into my office,” Jae says with a grin. “And tell me what brings you here after you said, and I quote, ‘I gotta get out of here, Jae. I can’t keep living like this. I’m going back to Canada and I’m never looking back.’”

 

“You’re mocking me,” Brian says, flicking open the can of beer and settling himself into a chair. “Those were real emotions.”

 

“And you were really, really gone.”

 

For the briefest moment, pain shines through Jae’s eyes, and Brian is fully aware that he is the worst excuse for a friend on the face of the planet. But then Jae grins again, and Brian decides it’s not time yet to deal with feelings.

 

“I got a job,” Brian begins. “I’m doing research and retrieval for this Canadian company called Fitcher & Fork Group.”

 

Jae spits out his beer. “You went  _ corporate _ ?”

 

Silence floods the room. Brian doesn’t know what to say.

 

“Uh, yeah, it’s just a job—”

 

“Uh, dude, it is  _ not _ just a job.” Jae’s smile shifts to one of disbelief. “Going corporate is like, signing up to work for the bad guys! I mean, I know you’re a firebender and all, but I did not expect you to go evil on me like this.”

 

“It’s just a research firm.”

 

“ _ Just _ a research firm. So do you work in an underground lair, or a dark tower?”

 

Come to think of it, the office building does look vaguely sinister with all its windows tinted black, but that’s to reduce the heat in the building and anyway, he’s not going to say that to Jae.

 

“Neither, Jae. God, would you just listen for a second?”

 

Jae laughs and leans back, his beer still floating in the air where he’d left it. “You’ve been gone for  _ three years,  _ dude. Not a  _ word _ . And then you show up and tell me you’ve gone corporate? What’s next, you’re going to tell me you’re here to recruit me to your evil company?”

 

An awkward silence follows.

 

Jae sits back up. “What the hell, man.”

 

“Well…” Brian leans forward and tries to give a consoling smile. “It’s not…  _ you _ .”

 

Jae’s smile falls. “Seriously, what the hell, man.” He stands up and walks over to the sliding glass door on the far end of the room and looks pensively out into the city. “Can’t even get an evil corporation to want me.”

 

Brian doesn’t really know what to say to that, so he decides to change the subject. “What are you up to these days, anyway?”

 

“Well, after, you know—everything, with our team and whatever, I went back to school and finished my degree in poly sci. That’s short for political science, if you didn’t know.”

 

“I knew.”

 

“Right. Well now I work for the US embassy, processing visas and stuff.” He shrugs. “It’s pretty boring but it’s not bad.” Jae frowns. “Wait a second. If you’re not here to recruit me, then who are you here for?”

 

Brian clears his throat. “Uh…” He tries a gentle smile. “Dowoon.”

 

Jae’s jaw drops. “ _ Our _ Dowoon?”

 

“The algorithms say he’s got a 98% chance of being a chosen one.”

 

“As in, our Dowoon?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Our Dowoon, who broke a military grade tank because he wanted to see if he could use it as a giant drum?”

 

“Yes, him.”

 

“You mean  _ our _ Dowoon, who made a serious, honest-to-God plan to  _ run _ from Seoul to Los Angeles, and insisted the Pacific Ocean was not an obstacle?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“You mean—”

 

“ _ Yes, _ Jae! I’ve seen the numbers, okay, it’s him.”

 

Jae sighs. “You gotta quit your job, dude. If Dowoon is ‘the chosen one,’ or whatever, your stupid company is just going to corrupt him. You know, the chosen one.” Jae shakes his head. “Dowoonie Potter, that bastard.”

 

“Anyway, do you know where he is?” Brian stands up to join Jae on the other side of the room.

 

“I haven’t seen him in weeks.” Jae shrugs. “Wonpil might know where he is, but I’m not talking to Wonpil.”

 

Brian pauses. “Why aren’t you talking to Wonpil?”

 

“Dude, he lived in my house for  _ five months _ without telling me. Like, slept next to me in bed and everything.”

 

Brian shrugs. “Well, that’s weird as hell, but not exactly out of character.”

 

“Don’t excuse him!” Jae looks around wildly. “He could be here right now, and think you’re justifying his bad behavior.”

 

That does give Brian a creepy feeling. “I’m not justifying his bad behavior, I’m just saying that invisibility makes you weird, okay.  _ Weird. _ ” He repeats the word for good measure, in case Wonpil really is in the room listening. “But don’t you know  _ any _ way to get in touch with Dowoon?”

 

Jae twists his mouth up in concentration. “Sungjin might know where Wonpil is.”

 

“And where is Sungjin?”

 

“Still living the dream.”

 

Brian’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise. “Sungjin is doing hero work?”

 

“Uh, no. The other dream.”

  
  


 

From their vantage point on the bridge above the river, they can clearly see the crowd around Sungjin. And hear his beautiful voice. Sungjin, still busking his heart out, after all these years.

 

“We shouldn’t have given up on the band,” Brian says absently.

 

“I think the band was more practical than the hero crap, looking back on it.”

 

“Agreed.” Brian looks over at Jae. “Why didn’t we try to make the band happen, like for real?”

 

Jae shrugs. “We were mal-adjusted state wards with weird superpowers and a lack of real-world life experience?”

 

“Good point.”

 

“Hey, watch this.”

 

Jae points into the distance, where some kind of statue of a cartoon tiger stands at the entrance to a playground. After a moment of Jae staring at it, the tiger shakes itself to life, and bounds over to Sungjin’s audience. There, it begins dancing the Macarena. A woman screams. Sungjin stops singing.

 

He leaps up and doesn’t even look around. “I know you’re here, Jae!” he bellows.

 

“Shit.” Jae grins at Brian. “Well, this went well. Wanna go get some grub?”

 

Brian groans.

 

Then he screams, because a metal tiger statue is hurtling toward them.

 

Jae freezes it in midair just as Brian’s hands flicker to life. He hasn’t used his powers for real in years, and it feels like a painful itch deep in his muscles. He squeezes his hands into fists, and the fire disappears.

 

“So, guess Bob is pissed,” Jae says. “Wanna ride the tiger statue down there?”

 

Brian starts to tell Jae to shove off, but then he remembers the big flight of steps they took to get up here, and he doesn’t feel like walking. So he climbs onto the tiger statue behind Jae, and they float down gently, like a fucking Macy’s Day Parade float. Jae even waves.

 

“Bob, how have you been?” he says as he alights from the tiger.

 

Sungjin doesn’t even notice Brian climbing down. “Why do you always try to ruin things for me?”

 

“How am I ruining this for you? Hobbes here is a big fan of yours.”

 

“First of all, that’s Daniel Tiger, and second of all, we’ve  _ discussed _ this, performances and dates are off-limits for telekinetic shenanigans! It’s like you don’t want me to get any—wait a minute, Brian?”

 

Brian can’t help but smile as Sungjin breaks out into a megawatt grin. “The one and only.”

 

“I can’t believe it’s really you.” Sungjin steps forward and hugs Brian, his grip still painful, what with the super-strength and all. “What are you doing here?”

 

“I’m looking for Dowoon,” Brian says. “I need to find him. He’s been predicted as a chosen one.”

 

“He’s been predicted as what? Wait—how do you know this?” Sungjin continues hugging Brian, like he’s afraid he’ll disappear if he doesn’t hold on.

 

“Brian has gone corporate,” Jae says.

 

Sungjin’s arms freeze, trapping Brian in a painful embrace. “You  _ what? _ ”

 

"He works for a company called Fucker and Fuck, or something."

 

Brian wiggles, trying to break free. “Fitcher and Fork. Does corporate mean something different here, or something? In Canada it’s not a big deal.”

 

Sungjin lets him go and steps back. He and Jae exchange looks, their previous fight forgotten and hyung-mode fully engaged.

 

“Maybe we should find somewhere else to talk?” Jae proposes.

 

Sungjin nods. “Never know who’s listening.”

  
  
  


 

They go to Sungjin’s apartment, which is smaller than Jae’s but neatly arranged. Sungjin sits on the floor and Jae takes the couch, leaving Brian to lean back against the wall and look at them. It’s eerily familiar of old times, and Brian wonders how he found himself here when he swore up and down he wasn’t coming back. And it’s strange, how readily Jae and Sungjin accepted his return. They don’t seem to recognize the guilt Brian feels after abandoning them like that, the guilt he’s been running away from for three long years.

 

“Hero work has panned out a little bit differently here in Korea than you might have expected,” Sungjin begins. He pulls out an iPad and opens a presentation called  _ Hero Work In South Korea: The Basics _ which is kind of weird because either he prepared this on the off-chance that Brian would come back some day, or he just did it for fun.

 

“Do you think Wonpil is here right now?” Jae asks, squinting at the empty other end of the couch.

 

Sungjin ignores him. “So you will remember that when hero work first became privatized, we signed our contract with one of the larger companies. Does anyone remember the name of that company?”

 

Jae raises his hand. “Justice Yielding Peace.”

 

“Very good, Jae. Now, in the early years, our work was straightforward and it was easy to tell the bad guys from the good guys. But then—” Ominous music begins playing from the iPad. “Money began changing hands. Suddenly, we didn’t know who to trust. You were here for the beginning of this era, Brian.”

 

“You mean—” Brian pauses, thinking back to the accident that caused him to leave. The rainy night, the way Junhyeok screamed—

 

“We’re not sure,” Jae says softly. Brian looks over and finds Jae’s expression inscrutable. “There’s no sign of him, even now. The best case scenario is that he went rogue.”

 

“Can’t find a shapeshifter who doesn’t want to be found,” Sungjin offers. “But it doesn’t matter. Junhyeok is a problem for the past, and we need to talk about the present.” He moves to the next slide and Brian is surprised to see a number of familiar faces on the screen.

 

“These are all of our former associates who have gone to the dark side,” Sungjin says.

 

“Taecyeon? Suzy? Jinyoung?” Brian asks in disbelief as he scans the top row. “Well, I guess Jinyoung isn’t that surprising—why does Jaebum have a question mark over his head?”

 

“Jaebum is going through a  phase,” Sungjin explains. "Alcoholism, destructive tendencies, fights, a solid moral center but questionable methods—you know. _That_ sort of super."

 

“That sounds—unpleasant.”

 

“Some people just love to live in the drama genre,” Jae says.

 

“But we have a bigger problem,” Sungjin continues. “And that is—going corporate.”

 

He shifts to the next slide and Jackson Wang’s face fills the screen. It’s an advertisement, with the tagline  _ Heroes for Hire _ emblazoned across the top, and a perfectly airbrushed version of Jackson flying across a blue sky backdrop.

 

“Jackson’s charisma enabled him to become the spokesman and major shareholder in this company. The issue, of course, is that they’re  _ for hire _ .”

 

“How do you know who you’re working for?” Jae explains. “All you know is you wanna be like Jackson.”

 

“It’s bad for business,” Sungjin echoes. “And it’s why we all got out. Me, Jae, Wonpil, Dowoon—we’ve gotta be, you know.  _ Authentic. _ ”

 

Brian doesn’t really know what to make of that, and he’s not totally convinced that “going corporate” is such a bad thing, if the leadership of the company is ethical and grounded in reality. But Jae and Sungjin seem so absolutely sure, and Brian has been gone for three years, so what does he know?

 

“Anyway, so what’s the issue here?”

 

“The issue is that if  _ your _ algorithms are spitting out this Dowoon-the-chosen-one nonsense, so are Jackson’s. And Jackson is going to be trying to get to him first.” Jae’s eyebrows raise above his glasses. “And you  _ know _ Jackson is going to offer him something way better than just maple syrup and hockey tickets.”

 

Brian squints at Jae. “Why do you say things like that?”

 

“In the best case scenario,” Sungjin interrupts, “Dowoon doesn’t sign a contract at all! Dowoon is very powerful, you know. Like—kind of scary, when you think about.”

 

Brian considers this. Dowoon always seemed so innocent, so pure, and then he’d think of some kind of gruesome battle move no one else had ever imagined. Sungjin has a point.

 

Brian shrugs. “This is my job, though. We make predictions and offer them contracts. Then they do to hero work under a corporate umbrella. It’s not as evil as you make it out to be.”

 

“Well, we’ll see about that,” Jae says. “The main point is, Jackson is  _ definitely _ under the thumb of Jinyoung, who is  _ definitely _ reaching supervillain status these days. So we’ve got to get to Dowoon first.”

 

Brian nods. He can understand that point, at least. And if it’s a competition—well, he used to wipe the floor with Jackson in training. Screw him.

 

He looks up. “How is Wonpil handling Jinyoung’s turn to villainy, though?”

 

Jae and Sungjin look at each other.

 

“We, uh, didn’t ask,” Jae says.

 

“He’s taking it pretty hard,” Sungjin agrees.

 

“You know how he gets,” Jae continues. “The melodrama, the tears, the demands for cuddles—”

 

“I have NEVER used the word ‘cuddles.’”

 

“Holy SHIT,” Brian screams, jumping half a foot in the air. Fire springs from his fingertips without warning and he lifts his fist in the direction of the disembodied voice beside his ear. After a moment, Wonpil fazes into view.

 

“You make it sound like I’m some sort of baby,” Wonpil protests, ignoring Brian’s fire-hands.

 

“How long have you been in here?” Jae yells.

 

“Like the whole time, it’s not that big of a deal. Do you always insult me when you think I’m not around to hear it?”

 

Brian snuffs out the fire in his hands. “Dude, seriously, that’s not cool.”

 

“Hey, Brian,” Wonpil says, flashing a grin his way. “We miss you.”

 

Brian smiles, some of his anger abetting at the sight of Wonpil’s grin.

 

“Don’t try to get him on your side,” Jae says. “We need to talk about BOUNDARIES.”

 

“Anyway,” Wonpil says, ignoring Jae. “I can help you find Dowoon.”

 

“Great,” Brian says, clapping his hands together.

 

“But it’s going to be tricky.”

 

“Why?”

 

“He’s decided League of Legends is his life calling,” Wonpil says. “He went off on some sort of training retreat a couple months ago. Haven’t heard from him since.”

 

They exchange glances. Sungjin looks concerned, Jae uncertain. Brian, for his part, is relieved. This is the first real lead he’s had on Dowoon in weeks. And if anyone can help him find Dowoon—well, it’s gotta be his old team.

 

“You guys with me?” Brian asks.

 

Suddenly the other three break out into huge smiles.

 

“Just like old times,” Jae says, and Brian swears someone is about to cry.

 

* * *

tbc


	2. why don't we break the rules already?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic is nonsense from beginning to end. It has no purpose, no coherent theme, no punchline, no moral of the story, and it vacillates randomly in tone. In short, it is not at all up to my own arbitrary standards. But, well, it sure was fun to write.

* * *

 

 

The boys resolve to set out on their search for Dowoon immediately.

 

But first, they order pizza.

 

“Can’t go searching on an empty stomach,” Sungjin reasons, stuffing his face full of pizza.

 

“Dowoon’s as lost as he’s going to get,” Jae agrees, following suit.

 

After eating roughly one pizza each, they are too full to move and therefore decide to set out at sunrise, or at least, before noon. Next, they sort out their sleeping arrangements. Sungjin refuses, of course, to share his bed with any of them, but it’s a studio apartment and space is limited. Wonpil turns invisible, at which Sungjin sighs and says, “It still counts, Wonpil,” with the tone of one who has suffered much hardship in this world. 

 

Eventually, Sungjin agrees to share the bed with Brian because he “ _ used _ to sleep like a rock, and it had better still be true,” while Wonpil takes the couch and Jae summons a bed of pillows on the floor. Sleeping arrangements thus resolved, Brian is suddenly faced with a dark room and too many thoughts echoing in his head.

 

This reunion happened much too quickly for him. If someone had asked Brian two and a half weeks ago, at his desk job in Toronto, whether he would be having a sleepover with his old teammates while in Korea, he would have emphatically said NO. But here he is, listening to Sungjin’s deep breathing and the slight whistle coming from Wonpil’s nose. It’s entirely comforting, and entirely the reason Brian left in the first place. He lies in bed for a moment, staring at the ceiling, and then gets up and slips out of the apartment as quietly as he can.

 

He’s outside within seconds, breathing cool night air and thinking somewhat clearly again. He can find Dowoon before the others wake up, get his job done, and go back to Canada. It’s a good plan.

 

“Running away again?”

 

“SHIT!” Brian hisses, jumping in the air. “Why do you  _ do  _ that?”

 

Wonpil fades into view, a cheshire cat grin on his face. “It’s effective.”

 

“Didn’t you take etiquette class?”

 

“I thought you said our powers etiquette class teachers were idiots.”

 

“They  _ were _ , but—look, why did you follow me out here?”

 

Wonpil watches him for a moment, his eyes wide and gentle. They are, as Dowoon used to comment, indeed like black holes. But the bad kind, the kind that sends guilt washing across Brian’s skin. He shivers, and starts to turn away.

 

“I know you don’t smoke. I know that’s just for show.” Wonpil says. “So I’m guessing you’re running away.”

 

Brian stops halfway in his turn, faced away from Wonpil but still within view.

 

Wonpil sighs. “Again.”

 

Brian glances up at him. “You don’t understand—”

 

“I know I don’t,” Wonpil says. “Because you only bothered to explain yourself to Jae, and him just barely. And that’s fine. We weren’t a team or anything.”

 

The sarcasm hits Brian hard. His chest clenches tight, and he thinks back to the early days when they were first out in the real world, going on missions, trying to be heroes. They were fools, of course. Superpowers don’t make you a hero, any more than an algorithm makes Dowoon the chosen one.

 

“What have you been doing for three years?” Wonpil asks.

 

Brian shrugs, unsure of what to say. He’s so used to pretending to have everything together, he doesn’t know how to even approach the truth. “Not hero work, that’s for sure.”

 

“Well, me neither,” Wonpil says. “But I’m still here.”

 

It’s another kick to the gut. But this time Brian can’t help but meet Wonpil’s eyes, and he’s surprised to see that Wonpil is smiling, just a little at the corners. Wonpil holds out a hand, as if he is inviting Brian into a hug.

 

“No one’s asking you for anything,” Wonpil says. “Just come back upstairs and get some sleep.”

 

Maybe just because he’s tired, Brian follows him back up the stairs.

  
  
  


 

A long white hallway stretches out in front of him. The hallway is lined with windows, and there’s no one else in sight. Brian begins walking slowly, his feet making no sound on the white tiles. He looks in the first window, and finds the room empty. If this room is empty, then he has to keep looking. He walks faster.

 

The next room is empty, and the next one, but in the next window, he sees a group of people in white suits holding clipboards as they stand staring at something in the middle. Brian takes a step toward the window.

 

The first thing he sees is a giant metal contraption, like a hammer, or the two pieces of a wrench tightening together. The second thing he sees is Sungjin between the two pieces, his mouth open in a silent scream.

 

Brian screams and pounds his fist against the window, but no one moves, and his scream doesn’t make a sound.

 

He doesn’t know why he keeps walking, but he does. In the next window he sees more people in white, writing on their clipboards. In the center is a chair, and Jae sits in the chair, tears streaming down his face. A thin glass needle pierces the center of his forehead. Again Brian screams, but nothing happens.

 

The next window is completely dark except in the very center of the room, where Wonpil is lit up like a star, his eyes focused on something Brian cannot see. Then the next window, where Dowoon runs on a wheel like a hamster, and the wheel spins faster and faster, and Dowoon trips—

 

Brian looks away from the window. At the end of the hallway stands a man in a white suit, and then it is Junhyeok, and he is looking at Brian.

 

“Where have you been, Young K?” the man who is and is not Junhyeok asks.

 

Brian screams, and his fists flare to life—

 

“Wake UP!”

 

Brian’s eyes snap open. Jae stands over him, gripping his shoulders, and Sungjin is holding Brian’s wrists aloft. His hands are hot, as though they were just on fire.

 

“You’re having a dream, idiot,” Jae explains, stepping back and heaving a sigh of relief.

 

Sungjin lets go, too, and steps back next to Jae. “He’s worse off than Jaebum,” he mutters to Jae under his breath. Brian pretends not to hear as he sits up.

 

The apartment is just as it was when he fell asleep. Semi-dark, quiet, and safe. Brian looks at the other two.

 

“This happens often?” Sungjin asks.

 

“Not in a long time,” Brian answers. He presses his fingers against his temples. “Thought I’d gotten over this part.”

 

Wonpil comes into the room, holding out a glass of water. Brian takes it, and as he sips, he realizes exactly where he made his mistake.

 

“I’ve made a huge mistake,” he announces.

 

The others blink at him, uncomprehending. Brian stands up.

 

“I shouldn’t have let Wonpil talk me into coming back up here. I’m sorry. I’m going to leave now.”

 

They continue to blink at him, which only confirms for Brian that this is indeed the right decision. He shouldn’t have come back here, shouldn’t have taken this damn job in the first place. He needs to find Dowoon and get the hell out of here, before things get worse.

 

He is halfway to the door when his feet freeze to the floor.

 

“Jae,” he says calmly. “Let me go.”

 

“Yeah, we’re not really into your whole drama schtick,” Jae says. “We prefer to leave that to the real divas, the Glorious Seven.”

 

Brian is momentarily distracted. “That’s what they’re calling themselves?”

 

Jae shrugs. Brian remembers that he’s storming out. “Anyway,” Brian says. “You have to let me go.”

 

“Why?”

 

“It doesn’t matter.”

 

Sungjin groans. “Use your  _ words _ , Brian, like a grown-up!”

 

Brian glares at the three of them. He suddenly, painfully misses Dowoon, who would say something stupid and distracting right now, and make the situation okay. But Dowoon isn’t here, and Brian is. Which sucks.

 

“What you need is an emotional laxative,” Jae announces.

 

“What does that even mean?”

 

“That you’re emotionally constipated,” Jae tells him. He moves his hand slightly and Brian floats gently to the couch. “So until you’re ready to use your words, we’ll use ours.”

 

“I thought you were the one who hated to talk about feelings,” Brian says.

 

“I just don’t like sappy stuff,” Jae returns with a shudder. “But for you, anything.”

 

Brian opens his mouth to point out that  _ that _ is the sappiest thing he’s ever heard, but decides not to.

 

“I agree, and I’ll start,” Sungjin says. He sits himself cross-legged on his bed, folds his hands in his lap, and begins. “When I was seven—”

 

“No, that’s too far back,” Wonpil protests with a wave of his hand.

 

“Fine, when I was seventeen—”

 

“Are you going to tell the talking duck story again?” Jae asks.

 

Sungjin closes his eyes briefly and then offers Brian a wide smile. “Anyway, I’m done. Who’s next?”

 

Brian squirms from his frozen position. “This isn’t going well, so can I go?”

 

“No!” the other three shout at the same time.

 

“Sungjin, maybe just—tell Brian how you feel,” Jae suggests.

 

Sungjin nods. Suddenly the atmosphere shifts, as if violins had started playing right on cue—or maybe not. The room becomes quiet, save for the ticking of a clock and the hum of the air conditioner, and Sungjin is looking at him very intently.

 

“We waited for you to come back, you know,” Sungjin says, his eyes gleaming. “For months, we thought you’d be back any day. We sent emails, we called your parents—until finally, we just gave up. I thought that was really unfair of you.”

 

A silence floods between them. Wonpil is the next to speak.

 

“I always counted on you,” Wonpil says. “Since we were kids. You and I were the first ones to move to the compound, remember? I know all the others were there, too, but—we were a team from the beginning. I don’t understand why you left.”

 

Brian doesn’t know what to say. How can he explain to them what he doesn’t understand himself? How can he explain the fear governing his actions, the regret that has followed him ever since?

 

Before he can say anything, Jae speaks up.

 

“Me too, Brian. I really depended on you.” Jae’s head tilts very slightly to the side and Brian is reminded of a younger Jae, unsure of himself and his powers. “I couldn’t speak the language when I got to the compound. I could barely use my powers. And every time I couldn’t do something, you were there. Until one day, you—weren’t.” Jae smiles, but it isn’t a happy smile. “And you know what? We figured out we could do everything without you.  _ I  _ figured that out. So we can take care of ourselves. But we’d much rather have you on the team.”

 

Brian’s voice is thick when he chokes out a response. “Well. You guys—really can use your words.”

 

He knows they’re all waiting for him to say something, but the words won’t come.

 

“Later in the story?” Jae asks.

 

Brian just nods. He’s not ready yet.

  
  
  


 

The worst thing about Brian’s tragic backstory, in his opinion, is that it wasn’t all that tragic. Sure, the two lab rat years sucked, but they weren’t terrible, just dull. And he wishes he hadn’t spent so much time separated from his parents. But otherwise, his daily life was more  _ Matilda _ than  _ The Hunger Games _ —a little macabre, but defined by the family he found more than the bad stuff that happened.

 

And THAT is the answer to why he left, and THAT is the reason he can’t talk about it yet. He climbs into the backseat of Jae’s car in the morning craving coffee and hoping against hope that the others don’t want to have any more heart-to-hearts until they find Dowoon, which will hopefully not take very long.

 

“Can I drive?” Wonpil asks.

 

“Heck  _ yeah _ ,” Jae agrees, and Wonpil promptly vanishes from sight. It puts a smile on Brian’s face, and their trip through the McDonald’s drive-thru puts a bigger smile on his face (“Dude, there is  _ no way _ you can eat that many hash browns.” “Watch me.”) and then they are on the highway.

 

“What,” Brian asks, “Is  _ that? _ ”

 

Rising above the highway is a massive digital billboard of Jackson and Jinyoung, standing back to back, their arms crossed over their chests and winsome smiles on their faces. The tagline reads  _ Heroes for Hire: Join the Glorious Seven today! _

 

Then the screen flashes, and they are replaced with a picture of Dowoon.  _ Have you seen this super? _

 

“Well that’s a shitty plot development,” Jae announces.

 

“Wonpil,” Sungjin says, leaning forward in his seat. “Can you—drive a little faster?”

 

“The speed limit is 80 kilometers per hour.”

 

“I know that,” Sungjin says.

 

“So I’m going 80 kilometers per hour.”

 

Sungjin reaches forward and pulls up on the collar of Wonpil’s invisible shirt. “Drive faster now, please,” he says in an almost menacing tone.

 

Wonpil drives about five km/h faster, but it settles Sungjin’s nerves enough.

 

They pass another  _ have-you-seen-me? _ Dowoon billboard. “Insufferable,” Jae sighs.

 

“Maybe,” Brian suggests, “We’d be moving faster if we had an invisible jet, or a batmobile, or you know— _ something _ .”

 

“This is a good car,” Jae protests. “Her name is Lucy, and you’re hurting her feelings.”

 

“Your car doesn’t have feelings—”

 

At that moment, the highway begins shaking. Wonpil slams on the brakes, and Brian braces himself against the seat in front of him.

 

“Hold on!” Sungjin yells, while Jae just says, “Shit shit shit shit shit,” and the highway begins to crumble in front of them. 

 

For a terrifying moment, Brian feels helpless. The ground beneath them is falling apart, and he can’t do shit with fire to stop it, and they don’t even have Dowoon around to save the day.

 

A rock hits the windshield with a horrifying  _ CRACK _ . Before it can shatter, Jae expels all the glass away from them, and climbs out onto the hood of the car. All Brian can see is Jae standing there, arms held out to either side, driving the rocks away from them one after the other.

 

“You know who’s doing this!” Sungjin yells over the noise.

 

“I know!” Brian yells back.

 

“He’s going to kill us!” Wonpil shouts from in front.

 

“And I’m going to kill him!” Brian says.

 

A cold resolve trickles down his back. As the earthquake shudders to a stop, Brian launches himself between the front seats and out onto the car next to Jae. There in the distance, he can see the source of their trauma.

 

“Bambam,” Brian mutters under his breath.

 

“Yugyeom too,” Jae says.

 

The car comes to a halt about twenty feet away from the two boys. Brian used to take care of them, practically  _ raised _ them, and now this?

 

“What the hell, Bambam!” he shouts.

 

Bambam’s face visibly pales. Brian and Jae jump off the car and walk toward the other two, knowing that Sungjin and Wonpil are close behind.

 

“Jaebum’s vision didn’t show that you would be here,” Bambam says to Brian, almost accusatory.

 

“Since when do you take orders from Jaebum’s  _ visions? _ ” Brian demands. Yugyeom is grinning, but he looks scared.

 

“Jackson said to stop you from getting to Dowoon,” Bambam continues, looking sheepish, and unaware of the destruction his earthquake had caused. “So that’s what we’re doing.”

 

“Right,” Brian says. “And nearly killing us in the process.”

 

“You know we would never kill you,” Yugyeom protests.

 

“What do you call that?” Brian points to the rubble around them.

 

Sungjin steps up next to Brian. “I think we’ve been out of the game too long,” he says with a sigh. “I never thought you’d all turn out like this.”

 

“Like what? What’s wrong with us?” Bambam asks. “You’re just jealous!”

 

“Yeah!” Yugyeom echoes.

 

Brian has several options in front of him. He prefers, has always preferred, to wrap up an argument neatly, without much fighting. He was always the peacemaker, not the instigator. But he’s also pissed.

 

Fire flickers at his fingertips. Sungjin puts a strong hand on his shoulder.

 

“What do you want with Dowoon?” Brian asks, extinguishing the fire in his fist.

 

Bambam just shrugs. “I dunno. They didn’t tell us.”

 

“We know what they want,” Wonpil says, quietly, so that Bambam and Yugyeom won’t know he’s there. “They want to take over the world, and they need the chosen one to do it.”

 

“We won’t let you take him,” Brian says.

 

“Yeah, well,” Bambam grins. “Guess you’ll have to find him first, huh?”

 

“Consider this a warning,” Yugyeom says, in a tone Brian thinks is supposed to be ominous.

 

With that, Yugyeom grabs Bambam’s arm, and they vanish from sight.

 

The four turn to each other. Wonpil phases back into view, his mouth a thin line. Jae shoves his hands into his pockets. “What now?”

 

Something clicks for Brian. “Wonpil, you said that Dowoon was doing a League of Legends training retreat, right?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“Do you know who bought the compound?”

 

“You mean our compound?” Sungjin asks. “Where we grew up?”

 

“Yeah, that one.”

 

The other three shake their heads.

 

“Well, I do. My company keeps track of this stuff. It was some YouTubers.”

 

Jae laughs. “There’s no way in hell Dowoon would go back to that place.”

 

Wonpil tilts his head to the side. “Dowoon wasn’t there for as long as the rest of us, though. And his judgement isn’t always that—predictable.”

 

Sungjin sighs. “I swore I’d never go back to that place.”

 

“Yeah, me too.” Brian says. “Me too.”

  
  
  


 

Brian’s stomach turns somersaults as they change directions and head for the large, countryside facility where they grew up. The last time he was here—he doesn’t want to think about it. But he can tell the other three are thinking about it, too. Jae has taken the wheel and he jerks the car back to the center of the lane every so often, but continues to drift with his thoughts.  Next to Brian, Wonpil remains fully visible, his face impassive as he stares out at the rice fields outside. Sungjin hums along aimlessly with the radio.

 

The last time he was here, he lost Junhyeok. And nearly lost the rest of them, too.

 

When they round the corner to the compound, the first thing Brian sees is the scorched remains of what used to be a large expanse of woods. After all these years, it hasn’t grown back from the fire that destroyed it. Maybe there’s a metaphor there, but he doesn’t want to think about it.

 

They stop the car outside the large gates that lead into the compound. The metal is rusted, the paint of the walls cracked and overgrown with vines. The sky above is a clear summer blue. Sungjin steps forward and heaves on the gates until they snap open.

 

“You okay?” Jae asks Brian, quietly, like he doesn’t want to disturb him.

 

“I’m fine,” Brian lies.

 

It had been raining, that night just over three years ago. That’s what Brian remembers—Sungjin opening the gates in the rain, while the rest of them waited, eagerly anticipating what they would find in the compound they had all abandoned. They were so stupid, too greedy, trekking through the rain based on nothing more than a rumor and the vague hope of doing something truly heroic.

 

“Do you really think Dowoon is in there?” Wonpil asks, startling Brian out of his thoughts.

 

Brian shakes his head. “I think he’s up  _ there _ .” He points to the hills beyond the compound. On the hillside stand three summer homes for the wealthy and reclusive, facing the untarnished landscape on the other side of the hills. “This is the fastest way to those houses,” Brian explains.

 

“And you need closure,” Jae offers.

 

For once, Brian doesn’t argue with him. The four of them begin their walk across the grass.

 

Their goals had been good. They were just trying to do the right thing, just trying to make something good  _ for once _ , instead of their endless battles with villains and monsters that they won by the skin of their teeth.

 

Brian stops walking. “I’m ready to use my words,” he says.

 

The others stop and look at him, all of them about waist-high in the tall grass. Which just reminds him more of that fateful night.

 

“I thought it was a good idea,” Brian says. “And I’m sorry. I messed up.”

 

What he had wanted to do was so  _ simple: _ go into the old facility and reclaim the technology that had perfected and enhanced their powers. Turn it into a big satellite and broadcast the world’s best concert, spreading not just  _ sound _ over the airwaves, but  _ happiness _ . It could have been done. Of that much, Brian is sure.

 

Except that he and Junhyeok were arguing about something stupid, he can’t even remember anymore. Which wires went where, or who was going to solo in their third song. And then he pushed Junhyeok, and Junhyeok tripped, triggering the machine and leaving Brian in the full blast of its radiation.

 

“I didn’t mean to burn everything.” Brian tells himself he will not cry, but a tear leaks out, anyway. In the distance he can see the burned remains of the facility where he grew up, destroyed by his own stupidity.

 

“It would have worked,” Sungjin says very softly. “It wasn’t your fault.”

 

Another tear leaks out. “I’m a hypocrite. We were supposed to spread good vibes everywhere, and I was fighting with him.”

 

“Why did you leave, though?” Jae asks. “We could have worked through this.”

 

Brian shakes his head. “Junhyeok disappeared. I was still radioactive, I was still angry, and—I couldn’t—” He doesn’t want to say it, because it’s sappy and also so damn cliche. “I couldn’t lose you guys too. But I guess I lost you anyway, eh?”

 

Wonpil sighs. “Nope,” he says, and hugs Brian tightly.

 

“Group hug!” Jae shouts. “Sungjin, I will actually, one hundred percent use my telekinetic powers to make you join this group hug if you do not do so by your own will.”

 

“ _ Fine _ ,” Sungjin mutters. But it’s pretty clear that he’s happy.

 

They stand there for a few moments. Brian can’t dare to let his feelings blossom fully-formed into his conscious thoughts, but he’s aware that he’s happy. And that after this, everything is changed.

 

“You guys are so weird.”

 

The four of them break apart. A short distance away stands all of the “Glorious Seven.” It was Jinyoung who spoke, a slight sneer on his face.

 

“If I remember right,” Brian says, “You used to want to be one of us.”

 

“ _ Yeah _ ,” Wonpil echoes. Brian glances to his left, his brow raised in a  _ dude, what? _ Wonpil blushes.

 

Jinyoung fiddles with his cufflinks. As a group, they don’t look cohesive at all—Jinyoung wears a villainous suit, Mark is in a basketball jersey, Jackson looks like he stepped out of a motorcycle commercial, Bambam looks like he stepped out of a  _ tacky _ motorcycle commercial, Youngjae is in sweatpants, Yugyeom is in jeggings, and Jaebum has on a bucket hat.

 

“Listen, we know why you’re here,” Jinyoung continues. “And we can’t allow it. So surrender now, and we won’t have to hurt you.”

 

Sungjin laughs. “You, hurt us?”

 

“Seven against four, my friend.”

 

Brian glances at the others and shrugs. “I’ll take those odds.”

 

But what he doesn’t expect is for Bambam to actually grin, and jump forward. When he lands, the earth crumbles.

 

And then it is chaos. Sungjin takes on Jaebum, his counterpart in super strength, while Jackson flies above them, swooping in to land his own blows. Wonpil immediately disappears and rushes for Jinyoung’s throat, who freezes the ground around him at random. Yugyeom teleports around Jae, who has to contend with a ten-foot-tall Mark as well. And suddenly, Brian realizes that he hasn’t used his fire in three years.

 

But Bambam jumps again, and Brian decides  _ fuck it, _ and launches himself at Bambam without any fire power to speak of. They roll through the dirt, Bambam screeching “I can’t believe you’d to this to me oh my god!” and Brian shouting “I  _ raised _ you!”

 

It’s easy enough to subdue Bambam, who always hated hand-to-hand combat. Then Brian stands up and takes a look around.

 

They’re all fighting, and it’s exactly what destroyed his group in the first place. Anger boils somewhere deep in his chest. And explodes.

 

“STOP IT!” Brian shouts.

 

Fire spreads in every direction. Everyone is caught in its blast, but it dissipates quickly, enough to singe but not to harm. Shocked, everyone turns to look at him.

 

“We are ADULTS!” Brian shouts. “We will use our WORDS!”

 

Silence. No one moves.

 

Jackson lands lightly next to Brian. “I can get with that.” Then he grins and jumps on Brian. “I missed you!”

 

Ice thus broken, the others slowly form a circle around Brian.

 

Brian interlaces his fingers and tries to think of what to do next. “Let’s sit down,” he tries. To his shock, they all do.

 

“You’re very popular,” Jae whispers, by way of explanation. Brian hushes him, but feels emboldened to continue.

 

“Right. So. I guess I’ll start.” Brian smiles, well aware that his smile looks more like a grimace. “So. I’ve been in Canada for three years because I thought it was better to deal with the accident by angsting on my own than by staying here.  _ But _ , I’ve learned to use my words and our group is back together again.” He smiles, nods, and gestures at the other three. He’s not totally sure if they’re back together again as, like,  _ a team _ , but none of them voices disagreement. Brian clasps his hands together again. “Who’s next?”

 

Wonpil raises his hand.

 

“Very good, Wonpil?”

 

Wonpil turns and looks at Jinyoung. “I feel like you don’t really appreciate me. Even though we trained together for years, all you ever wanted was to be partners with Jaebum, and that’s really unfair.”

 

Everyone stares at random objects, uncomfortable.

 

“Okay, that’s—a good start,” Brian says. “Maybe better for a private conversation, but a good start. Anyone else?”

 

Jaebum raises his hand. “I love Sungjin more than the rest of you,” he says to his team.

 

“Okay, that’s—really not—what I was going for. Can we get some actual catharsis here?”

 

Mark raises his hand. “Let’s get along better.”

 

“Right. Yes. Okay, Jackson?”

 

Jackson stands up. “I just want to say that I’m really grateful everyone is here today. Like, I can’t imagine a better way for us all to reunite, you know? Like first we had a sick fight, so, awesome, and now we’re having a heart-to-heart? Amazing. And next, I’m guessing, we’re going to go eat food and drink beer, which will also be awesome. So I guess what I want to say is, I really love you guys.”

 

Brian restrains himself from a facepalm while Jackson sits back down.

 

“There’s a lot to unpack here,” Sungjin says quietly to Brian. “Maybe just wrap it up.”

 

Brian nods. “Right. So. Anyway, can we agree that you all won’t take Dowoon and take over the world?”

 

They all stare at him in disbelief. Yugyeom even gapes.

 

“We don’t want to take over the world,” Jinyoung says. He looks between the members of his team, then back to Brian. “We want to start a band.”

 

Brian closes his eyes. Takes a breath. Opens them again.

 

“Dowoon’s a really good drummer,” Youngjae says.

 

Brian turns to his team. “Let’s kill them.”

  
  
  


 

They don’t, in fact, kill the “Glorious Seven,” but continue to use their words. Eventually they agree that the Glorious Seven can ask Dowoon to drum for them  _ occasionally _ but if and only if Dowoon does not rejoin his original band.

 

“We’re restarting the band?” Brian asks, trying not to build up hope.

 

Jae shrugs. “Why not?”

 

Argument resolved, they begin traipsing across the grass again, en route to Dowoon. All of a sudden, Brian remembers that he’s  _ employed _ . Somehow he had completely forgotten about his Canadian desk job.

 

“This is way more interesting,” Wonpil says.

 

“Just come back, man,” Jae says.

 

But Brian has scruples and he will at least do his job, which is: to offer Dowoon a hero contract as a predicted chosen one. He’s beginning to think, though, that maybe heroes shouldn’t just be for hire. If his trip back to Korea has shown him anything, it’s that supers probably shouldn’t be doing hero work at all without an extensive training period, a college degree, a solid understanding of criminal law, and counseling.

 

They find Dowoon, stark naked, in a hot spring outside one of the rich people houses.

 

“Hey guys!” Dowoon says with a big grin. He looks utterly unsurprised to see Brian. “You guys wanna soak, too?”

 

They all shake their heads.

 

“I, uh, have a proposition for you,” Brian says.

 

He then explains that Dowoon is predicted as a chosen one (“Wow, cool.” “ _ Predicted _ , Dowoon, not  _ guaranteed _ .” “You’re just jealous.”) and that he’s been offered a contract with a Canadian hero work corporation.

 

“Is there free housing?” Dowoon asks.

 

“Yes.”

 

“Free food?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Can I still drum?”

 

“Yes.”

 

Dowoon shrugs. “Okay. Sounds cool.”

 

Brian pauses. Then looks at Jae.

 

“I gotta quit my job.”

  
  


 

 

“And that is how this nonprofit got started,” Brian finishes with a winning smile.

 

The CEO and potential donor looks at him skeptically. The Han River shines brightly outside her office window. “So, let me just—sum this up. You run a nonprofit for supers to—learn to blend in with society?”

 

“Yes,” Brian says. “Sort of like a witness protection program, but for supers.”

 

“Shouldn’t supers be—doing hero work?”

 

Brian nods. “Right. That’s what I thought, too. But I’ve found that with great power, comes great incompetency and self-destructive tendencies.”

 

The CEO nods. “Well. Now that you say that, I guess that’s true.”

 

“It’s scary true,” Brian confirms. “So, what do you say?”

  
  
  


 

Check in hand, Brian walks outside with a wide grin on his face. Sungjin, Jae, Dowoon, and Wonpil all look up.

 

“How’d it go?” Jae asks.

 

“Great. You guys ready?”

 

Sungjin hands him his bass, and the others grab their instruments. Brian slips the strap over his shoulder and turns to the mike.

 

“Hello, we are Day6!”

 

 

 

_ end. _

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [all's fair, alright (the détente remix)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15870381) by [friday](https://archiveofourown.org/users/friday/pseuds/friday)




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